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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975456">The Want of You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah'>Talullah</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wind Will Rove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:34:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff"><p>The Want of You is a poem by Angelina Weld Grimké</p><p>A hint of gold where the moon will be;<br/>Through the flocking clouds just a star or two;<br/>Leaf sounds, soft and wet and hushed,<br/>And oh! the crying want of you.</p></div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Purimgifts 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Want of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts">Zdenka</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>

</p><p>Natalie inhaled deeply the evening air, as the second sun drew close to the horizon. The breeze was cool, poignant, fragrant with the terpenes from the woods, miles away. She was still not used to it, after eleven years on the planet. Terra 2 had stuck as a name, and everyone had forgotten the long string of numbers and letters of the official nomenclature. In her opinion, it was a rather unfortunate name, but no one cared.</p><p>She looked down, for a moment, at her withered hands. There were wrinkles, spots, a few arthritic knots... She could apply the technology to rejuvenate.  After they had found a planet apt for life without much need of terraforming, the prohibition to use rejuvenation biotechniques had not only been lifted as its use was strongly encouraged. Women in their 70s had their bodies turned into the lithe, flexible frames of 20 somethings, their gray hair became gorgeous, voluminous manes, their faces taut and plump as baby asses, and their wombs and ovaries ready to conceive, probably twins or triplets, with the right hormonal control. Natalie herself had administered many such treatments, including to her two closest friends. There was a planet to populate. Men searched rejuvenation too, yearning for muscle power that was not needed at the ship, and to keep themselves attractive to the women.</p><p>She wanted none of it for herself. Her husband had died in their second year on Terra 2. A stupid accident… her husband was one of the most intelligent people she knew and was more athletic than many others, enjoying very much his time on the low gravity chamber, on the running rooms, on the weightlifting rooms. All that enjoyment of his physicality had not gone to waste when they suddenly, in their early fifties, had found themselves in the scariest, most exhilarating adventure of all, building a new life in this lonely, lovely raft in the middle of the Universe.</p><p>But it wasn’t grief that kept Natalie from pursuing youth and a second chance with someone else. Eric would always be her love, true. She could not imagine herself with anyone else. But she could become young of body for herself, for Jonah and Teyla, for her grandchildren. Only, she didn’t want to. She enjoyed her weary, worn body. She enjoyed the thought that she had lived a life that was ordinary for all others, but full of meaning to herself. She had loved so much. Loved Eric, her children, her mother, Liat, Eric’s parents…</p><p>And she had had the immense good fortune of seeing this sky with her own eyes, walking this earth with her own feet. They would never know how much Terra 2 resembled Earth, but it didn’t matter at all. Before here a sea of wheat waved with the evening breeze, in waves of gold. Insects flew around them. After eleven years, she still felt so acutely free, so incommensurably small beneath the sky, so intrinsically connected with the soil beneath her feet. And the sounds, the incredible, relentless avalanche of sounds - birds of all kinds, the rustle of leaves, wolves calling from afar, the bleating of the lambs back in the farm. And, when she visited Jonah, by the sea, the brutal roaring of the storms or the gentle susurration of the peaceful days.</p><p>Natalie’s chest ached for a moment, when she thought of her mother. Eric had seen it all, even if for a short time. Rosie hadn’t. She had passed away five years before the discovery. Liat had gone right after. Her mother would never have the chance to see history unfold before her eyes in this new land. Oh, how she would have loved it all.</p><p>As the second sun completely disappeared behind the hills far away, leaving a purplish glow in the sky, a poem emerged from the depths of her memory:</p><p>A hint of gold where the moon will be;<br/>
Through the flocking clouds just a star or two;<br/>
Leaf sounds, soft and wet and hushed,<br/>
And oh! the crying want of you.</p><p>Natalie repeated the words to herself, slowly, once, twice, until she got it just right. It was one of the many small tragedies of the loss of the database that no one knew who the author was. Or even if the poem had been written in that exact form. But, to Natalie, this was not too relevant. What mattered was that when she needed the words to fill her need, they were there, a kind gift from the past.</p><p>The thing of Terra 2 was that even in more humid climates than her zone, the temperatures dropped really sharply at night, even in Summer. She dutifully walked back home, taking in as much of the beauty before her eyes as she could. Before her walk, she had left dinner slowly cooking and the table set. Teyla was in the last stages of her fourth pregnancy and Natalie tried to help as much as she could. Teyla’s wife was still out in the barn, feeding the animals and setting them for the night. The children were upstairs, making noise and, most certainly, splashing the whole bathroom instead of taking their baths. Natalie smiled. She loved her life intensely. They were happy.</p><p>As she reached the house, the intense scent of the honeysuckle Teyla had planted hit her nostrils and made her think of her mother once more.</p><p>“Teyla tells me you started playing again,” Rosie had told her, in what seemed a lifetime ago. Teyla was twelve - she remembered that well because of the times and how scared everyone was.</p><p>“I play with her, just for fun, nothing serious.”</p><p>“I’m not sure music should always be too serious,” Rosie had said.</p><p>“You’ve become quite the rebel, didn’t you?”</p><p>Rosie had laughed. “You sound like Liat. I’m not a rebel, at all - I’m a historian!”</p><p>Natalie had laughed too. “If you say so.”</p><p>“I do.” Rosie had hugged her. “Darling, is it too much to ask to come and play with the two of you sometime?”</p><p>Natalie bitterly regretted that she had cringed for the tiniest fraction of a second, but she had.</p><p>“Oh, never mind,” Rosie had quickly said, “it’s your thing with your daughter and a cranky, old fool like myself would only be in the way of you having fun.”</p><p>“Oh, Mom, no,” Natalie had said. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised. Of course we can all play together. Come have dinner with us next Saturday. Please.”</p><p>Rosie had come and with her Liat. Eric had programmed a nice chicken roast and they lingered at the table for a long time, just talking. Rosie made to rise and help with the dishes before leaving, but Natalie understood.</p><p>“Mom, leave the dishes - we’re playing. Sorry, Eric, Liat - prepare to suffer,” she had added with a grin.</p><p>And it had been fine. Natalie had anticipated that their disagreements from when she was young about repertoire and technique would all surface, but no, it had been a lovely family evening.</p><p>There had been many other evenings, after.</p><p>At one time, Natalie had mentioned that she knew Rosie had seen her concert. Rosie had blushed but had not tried to cover it up. </p><p>“I thought you were very good. A few of the others too. It was a pity when you put music away.”</p><p>“I don’t recall you saying that at the time.”</p><p>Rosie made a face. “I didn’t forbid you either. But I admit my horizons are wider now.”</p><p>They had giggled and moved on to the subject of preparing the party for Jonah´s fifteenth birthday. Natalie realized that they were now truly at peace and she loved her mother even more deeply than before.</p><p>Putting her hand to the knob of the kitchen door, she smiled to herself. She had made peace with her past, with her mother, with the untimely loss of Eric, with her music and she was at peace with her current life. The world was beautiful and rich. Soon, she would have another grandchild in her arms to love. And, for all that she missed Eric and her mother, Natalie had three moons, two suns, a sky, Teyla, Jonah, grandchildren, friends, music, laughter, and many, many good years still to come.</p><p>Finis<br/>
March 2020</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Want of You is a poem by Angelina Weld Grimké</p><p>A hint of gold where the moon will be;<br/>Through the flocking clouds just a star or two;<br/>Leaf sounds, soft and wet and hushed,<br/>And oh! the crying want of you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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